​​NOTE: If you missed part 1 of this special tribute to the jazz singer and songwriter Al Jarreau please check it out here. Part 2 begins now.

For the past few years, I have been particularly grateful for the technological advances that allowed me to catch online streaming of Al Jarreau's International Jazz Day performances from around the world: Washington D.C, Istanbul, Paris, etc. When news of his death came on February 12, 2017, the only thing I could really focus on was the astonishingly beautiful gift that was his presence in this world.

The first song by him I was able to access to commemorate his triumphant artistry was an MP3 file of the 1993 live version of "Summertime" from George Gershwin's and DuBose Heyward’s classic folk opera Porgy and Bess. The second was a 3-song set with the equally-amazing singer Randy Crawford on their 1982 Casino Lights CD recorded live in Montreux, Switzerland. Once again, like all those years before in Berkeley, I found myself compelled to sing along. This time, employing a style utilized for the Songs of the Angelic Gaze series published in The River of Winged Dreams, my participation took the form of a haiku jazz poem:

Healing and Comforting Anyone in Need

If we think of the musical maestro as a self-contained corporation constructed of impeccable melodies and soul-stunning craftsmanship, we can further define his company mission as intent to blanket humanity with compassion.

​To be a "star" could have never been substantial enough for him. Belief in providing service that made a tangible difference in the world would have been listed among the primary corporate goals and values. Note the following observation posted on his website after his passing:

"His 1st priority, far ahead of the other [Music], was healing or comforting anyone in need. Whether it was emotional pain, or physical discomfort, or any other cause of suffering, he needed to put our minds at ease and our hearts at rest. He needed to see a warm, affirming smile where there had not been one before. Song was just his tool for making that happen." (Al Jarreau.com)

​Anyone who believes those words are nothing more than sentimental hyperbole should note that before the emergence of Jarreau's talents as a singer, he earned a master's degree in vocational rehabilitation from the University of Iowa and for a time worked as a social worker in San Francisco. Music became the platform and instrument that enabled him to embrace and serve with love as many people as he possibly could during the course of his celebrated life.

Author

Author-Poet Aberjhani is currently completing a book of nonfiction narratives about race relations, histories of erasure, the cultural arts, and practices of slavery in his hometown of Savannah, Georgia, USA.

"Jarreau Jazz-riff Earth-tunes for the Angel of Compassion: Essay with Poem (part 1 of 2)" Postered Poetics art graphic for essay and poem by Aberjhani.

The first time I became aware of the name Al Jarreau was when receiving a letter (of the old-school variety penned by hand) from a former college roommate exclaiming how thrilled he and his girlfriend had been to attend one of his concerts. Despite my former roommate's enthusiasm, which rarely bubbled over so heatedly for anything other than football and slightly-older women, I did not really understand all the fuss over Jarreau.​Then a couple of years later, in the early 1980s, I got to see the rhythm-bending phenomenon myself in Berkeley, California, on a bill that also featured Carlos Santana and Frankie Beverly and Maze. The world by then had come to know him as the Grammy Award-winning talent behind the albums Look to the Rainbow (1977) and All Fly Home (1978). For my part, I finally got to experience the truth of a statement Jarreau would make many years later:

“I have missed the boat over my career by not doing every second or third CD live, because things happen on stage that don't happen in the studio.” (Al Jarreau Biography.com)

By its accommodating democratic nature, live jazz is often a music of improvisation. And by his brilliant fluid aesthetics, Al Jarreau was able to adapt his vocal vibrations to whatever genre he chose. But he was also, in essence a flesh, blood, and soul embodiment of jazz. It would not be absolutely wrong to describe him as a male Ella Fitzgerald or as a contemporary Cab Calloway, both of Harlem Renaissance fame, rolled into one. It might be more accurate, however, to say he was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of talent.

Among the things to which he alluded that could "happen on stage" was for him to suddenly turn his chest and rib cage into a drum set, transform his clapping hands into tambourines, or absorb an inspiration from the improvisational moment and blast it out of his lungs like a laser cannon lighting up multiple Sonny Rollins solos.

​What happened on the stage was the kind of inexplicable enchantment that made music journalists rush to describe the "quintessential jazz musician" who could duplicate the superlative performance of a brilliant quartet, or even an entire orchestra, with just his singular voice and body carved from music. Think of him this way--Al Jarreau did not just perform his music: right before your astonished eyes and heart he brought it to kicking, shouting, dancing, holy cosmic life that left you breathless with wonder.

Forced to Make a Difficult Decision

​The horrible dilemma with which I had to deal the night I saw Jarreau at the Berkeley Coliseum was that he had already been onstage for an hour, took a very short break, then came back for an additional set that lasted even longer. Dependent as I was on the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) subway system to get me back to San Francisco, I could not ignore the fact that it was close to midnight and, according to my schedule, the last train to the city would leave at that time.

Thoroughly immersed in the essential work of channeling raw creative energy into musical genius, the singer himself clearly had no use for clocks or schedules and the band seemed happy to match him song for song. Knowing no one from whom I could beg for a ride if I chose to stay, I forced myself to leave and head for the subway.

Just as I was about to enter the station some blocks away, something incredible caught my attention. It was his voice. Whether due to the unique acoustics of the coliseum or the undiminished intensity of his performance, I could still hear him. It was if the night itself with the surrounding buildings, street lamps, trees, and sweet cool air had become his microphone and speakers. I smiled, then laughed out loud, and then laughed some more while simultaneously trying to sing along with him and hurry down the subway steps.

Author-Poet Aberjhani is currently completing a book of nonfiction narratives about race relations, histories of erasure, the cultural arts, and practices of slavery in his hometown of Savannah, Georgia, USA.